


White

by Beryll (Rynthjan)



Series: Dark MiddleEarth [5]
Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Depression, Eomer POV (first person), M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 16:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynthjan/pseuds/Beryll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chains of love bind the heart to the point where it will break</p>
            </blockquote>





	White

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine a MiddleEarth where Isildur did not throw the ring into the fires of Mount Doom. But he did not keep it, either. He listened to the wisdom of the elves. He brought the ring to Lothlorien for the elders to decide what to do with it.
> 
> Galadriel took the ring.
> 
> Darkness was banished from MiddleEarth.
> 
> Darkness was replaced with the searing brightness that is the Queen of the Golden Woods.
> 
> The world was reshaped...

Does winter ever leave this land? Does the ice covering my heart ever melt? I can answer neither of those questions. Do I feel anything at all?

Looking down at my hands I wonder quietly, why there is no blood on them as I feel there should be. It should still mark me, should prove that I have won back my freedom. But it is gone, long washed away. And my freedom seems just as absent, the chains binding my heart growing tighter with each passing day, slowly squeezing the last remains of emotion and life out of me.

Maybe I killed the wrong one. Maybe I would have been better off, cutting my own throat. Maybe in death there would have been freedom and forgetting. But I live. To remember. To suffer.

To watch the fire burn lower and lower each night, the pain locked in my heart, frozen like the rest of my feelings like a sharp stone. Unmoving and inescapable. 

My tired mind relaxing it's iron grip on my thoughts. Thinking of him. Thinking of his silvery hair gleaming in the moonlight when he lay beneath me, his milky skin cool to my touch, his pale lips slowly flushing with the heat of passion, his icy eyes shining with warm love. Why did he betray me?

He loved me. I know he did. Wish it wasn't so. Wish I could believe he fooled me all the time. But his love was true. As true as his fingers untangling my hair in the morning, using any opportunity to caress, taking his time. As true as the casual touch of his lips on my neck, before getting up when he was finished. As true as the pain in my heart.

Why did we go to Rivendell? Why did I chose to trust in his love when I clearly saw the fear in his eyes?

Could I have known that it was not fear of losing me to his cousins but fear of losing himself to darkness?

I close my eyes, trying to reach for the exhaustion that will bring sleep but instead touch with my mind, where I don't want to go.

What is he doing now? Does he mourn Legolas' death? Does he still love me now? Is there pain in him too? Or have I killed the last of that?

Does he miss me?

Like a knife the thought cuts me and I turn over to face the darkness instead of the flames.

I hear Boromir shift as well. It is his watch and I know he watches me toss and turn. I know he feels for me. He thinks he knows. But he doesn't. He may have lost brother and lover, but they were taken from him, he did not leave them behind willingly. He pities me but I don't want pity. I want to forget, I want the numbness of cold to cover me completely. But there is no escape.

I hear him get up and part of me prays that he will just walk away, leave me behind to die. He walks over to me instead, kneeling down next to me. His hand on my shoulder startles me, never before has he tried to comfort me, never before has he shown more than quiet sympathy.

I do not want this. I don't need his pity. He can not break the shell around my heart. Still a sigh escapes my lips when he squeezes my shoulder gently. His touch is real, grounding me in the emptiness.

Wish he would speak to break the spell he has put on me by his simple gesture. But like he knows I will then twist away he remains quiet, his hand lingering on my shoulder, then slowly pulling me over. 

The fire has nearly burned down, it's last embers giving his blonde hair a reddish haze, his all too human frame all that I do not want to see. Wish he was my elf. But he is not and he doesn't care as he leans down, brushing hair from my face, then touching my cheek, my lips with trembling fingertips. He knows he is trespassing. One word and he will withdraw. And I remain quiet, transfixed by his tenderness.

He needs to feel just as much as I do. The realization strikes me, breaking off shards from the icy armor encasing my heart. He is just as lonely, just as grieving. This is an offer of comfort for both of us. 

I raise my hand, touching his, bringing his fingers to my lips, kissing them softly. How can I deny him what he asks of me when I know the pain so well?

He draws breath deeply and I realize he has been holding his breath, waiting to be send away in shame. A tiny spark lights in my dark heart. Maybe we both need this. Maybe we can find healing in each other.

I kiss his fingers again, drawing him closer to me. I feel him shiver, is hot breath visible in the cold as his mouth opens to say something foolish that would destroy my resolve. I put a finger on his lips, drawing him down beside me. He does not resist as I roll him on his back, partially lying on top of him now. He still has not learned to resist and I take care not to be to commanding. To disobey has meant pain to him for to long. He still shuns it.

But he sighs softly, as I lean down over him, gazing into his wide eyes, revealed now by the fading light of the fire. I can not tell, if he is unsure now. So I kiss him. Taste his breath, feel him tense beneath me and then relax, melting into my embrace, my kiss. 

How long since he has been with his lover, I wonder. But his body remembers, as his arms come up and wrap around me, as he arches against me, as his tongue seeks entrance into my mouth. 

Mine remembers too, heat shooting from the touch of his tongue down my spine igniting passion in my groin. I want him.

His hands find a way beneath my tunic, sneaking up my back, recoiling for a split second from the whipmarks there, then caressing every single one of them almost reverently.

My own hands find the lacing of his pants and he utters a small cry, as I creep inside, touching his hardening cock. His finger claw at my back. So hungry, so needy, so utterly human. I caress him, stroke him and he holds on to me, arching into every touch.

My instincts tell me to crawl down, to take him in my mouth, to lick him, suck him, pleasure him till he screams his release. Yet my mind floods me with memories of the last time I took my elf like that. How I was kneeling in front of him, blood running down my back and tears running down my face. I can't do this. I just can't...

I am about to recoil from his touch, to withdraw and leave him as cruel as that may be. But he has noticed that shift of mood in me and his hands go to my own groin, gently rubbing me through the leather, making me gasp at the exquisite friction, making me forget as my body overrules my troubled mind.

His fingers nimbly open my breeches and find my quivering flesh waiting for his touch. He shifts beneath me, stripping of his pants without losing his grip on me, then spreading his legs for me. I pull my tunic over my head, then push up his shirt to feel him skin against skin, laying down on him, his cock hard and hot against my own.

Again I kiss him and he responds eagerly, pressing up against me, his moans of passion a wordless plea. I prepare him hastly, my fingers opening his body to me. I feel him bite my lip in mixed pleasure and pain. Then I slow push my aching cock into him and thought flees my mind at his hot tightness taking me in, holding on to me.

I know I should go slowly, give him time to adjust, but I can't seem to hold on to self-control, as I push into him fully, burying myself to the hilt, savoring his cry of pain. Still he presses against me, still he tries to impale himself even deeper on me, spreading his legs wider, raising his hips. Whimpering in loss as I withdraw, crying out again as thrust into him hard. 

I lose my grip on my last shreds of control then, spearing him on my hard cock again and again, making him whine and scream and moan, twisting beneath me, lost in a haze of passion.

And I take him with all the desperate brutality and rage, that has remained locked in my heart. I must hurt him, some part of me knows this. Knows too that he craves this pain as it blots out the bloodier pain in his heart. But I can not stop, my twisted mind overlaying his image with that of my elf, spread open before me, accepting the punishing thrusts of my cock eagerly.

I am getting closer and closer to the edge, ready to fall into blissful oblivion, when he cries out, breaking the spell that has held us locked, shattering all illusion and hope.

"Aragorn!"

Then he comes, clenching tight around me, pulling my body into orgasm as well, as my mind reels from the pain.

I feel strangely numb, as he hold on to me, silent tears leaking from eyes clenched shut. Like something has been cut from me and I can't seem to remember what it was. I lie down on top of him, holding him in my arms, my cock still buried in him.

And I wonder at the sudden clarity in my mind. There is no freedom to be gained like this. Our flight can not take as far enough to escape the pain in our hearts.

As snowflakes begin to drift around me, to fall on my exposed back, cooling the heat of passion, I finally see the only way to end this.

We must go back.


End file.
